


Much Like Falling

by MysticPuma



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Martin is hated by his parents, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-11
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-28 23:11:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/679935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MysticPuma/pseuds/MysticPuma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"When I said good morning, I was lying. I was truly thinking of how I might quit waking up. He pointed out how selfish it would be to kill myself. So I keep waking up." – Much Like Falling, Flyleaf.</p>
<p>Martin has often had suicidal thoughts. And each time, he had been told it is selfish…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Much Like Falling

Martin's first suicide attempt, at age 10… An early age to contemplate suicide, perhaps. However, he felt like a failure, and he didn't know much about it. He was never good enough for his parents. Simon and Caitlin were at the top of their classes, smart and happy. Simon was entering A-level, and Caitlin GCSEs. Martin was just finished at Primary level.

He'd been told countless times that he was a mistake, unwanted and a burden. Once his parents had a boy and a girl, what use was Martin? He was just a spare part. That's how it started. He knew nobody would miss him… So why stay?

Simon and Caitlin got help with school, the best education and all the advice they needed. Martin was left to his own devices, struggling with school and he was always stumbling around clumsily, dropping his books all the time. He spent his money (given begrudgingly for the sake of equality) on flying manuals, magazines about airplanes and anything else to do with piloting that he could find. But as much as he loved them, and buried himself in them, he couldn't escape the feeling his life would amount to nothing.

So, one day, he was in the bath… His father had left his shaving razor out again, and Martin reached for it, twisting it around in his hand. He brought up his left wrist, and cut a horizontal line into his flesh. He revelled in the relief the searing pain brought him, and became transfixed when he dipped his wrist back into the water, watchin as the red blossomed through the water, tendrils of crimson blood snaking out around his body.

He cut another line and dipped his arm further in the water. The edges of his vision began to blur, and he felt light-headed. He begged the darkness to swallow him, not hearing his father banging insistently on the door.

"For god's sake! I don't care if you're still in there, I need the loo!" a dull voice echoed, before Martin's father threw open the door as Martin slipped into the darkness.

When Martin woke up, he was in bed, bandages wrapped around his arm tightly. He pushed himself into a sitting position and touched the bandage lightly. He missed the pain. It numbed his emotions, made him feel worth something… That bandage was tight though, and he couldn't pull it off. He looked up as his father stormed into the room.

"Oh, you're awake, are you?" he snapped. Martin flinched at the anger in his voice. "What the _fuck_ were you trying to pull, huh!?" Martin's parents didn't care about swearing anymore… Simon and Caitlin were old enough now to hear it, and in their opinion Martin didn't count.

"I-" Martin stuttered.

"Trying to end it, were you? You selfish little brat!" he yelled. End it? "You don't realise how selfish that is! After everything we've done for you!" He bellowed, slapping Martin around the face. So maybe he had wanted it all to end… so what? But Martin sighed.

"I'm sorry, father. I didn't know…" he muttered. It was selfish… He didn't know how, but it was.

\---

The next time he tried, he knew what he was doing, in the sense that he had consciously decided to do it about a week earlier.

He was sixteen, had been dumped by his girlfriend, who had only dated him out of pity, and he'd disappointed his parents in his GCSE results, with Ds and Es all around, having had no help. His parents were convinced he failed from lack of work, or if they knew different, they ignored the fact. He would never get anywhere in life, and if he did, he'd be un-satisfied, because he still wanted to be a pilot with all his heart, but his parents would never allow it.

This was as close as he would get to flying.

Nobody knew. He threw himself from the Clifton suspension bridge in Bristol, down towards the water. As he became dizzy, he welcomed the blackness of unconsciousness, praying for it to end soon, for his pain to be over. The feeling of the wind rushing past his face felt so much like flying, but he knew the destination was far more permanent. He was glad as the darkness swallowed him.

He woke up with a sore throat and a light head. They all believed he'd slipping accidentally, but Martin ignored them all. He couldn't even die properly… How could he be such a failure?

He was planning his next attempt in his head, when his parents came in, both with frowns on their faces. That was all Martin ever saw… Anger.

"You useless boy, slipping under the bars!" cried his mother, not even a hint of concern in her cold tone. Marting was so used to it, that he didn't even flinch.

"At least he wasn't committing god-damn suicide!" his father exclaimed.

"Martin wouldn't! Would you?" his mother asked roughly. Martin shook his head slowly, wishing he could run from the room.

"'Course not! I already told him how selfish that would be! He may be stupid, and useless, and a failure…" he trailed off.

"But-?" Martin prompted, his voice hoarse.

"But you're not selfish. Usually." His father finished brusquely. Martin sighed. "What? Got something to say?" he snapped. Martin shook his head. "Good!" and with that they were both gone again.

Nobody visited him. He spent the time convincing himself that yes… suicide was still selfish.

\---

The third time was just after he'd completed his seventh CPL test. He'd almost certainly failed, he felt it. His father had died recently and his mother was in bits over it. Martin hadn't been allowed the see her. Apparently she'd stated: "The last thing I need right now is that failure of a son!"

Not only that, but his father had left him the van… the VAN! That was it. No last goodbye, no money, no love... just the van. Martin had been, as of yet, unable to think of anything that said "give up you useless bugger, you'll never reach your stupid dream" better.

He was in the bath in the bathroom of the student house he had the attic of. The students had left, another generation moving on. They'd gone just an hour ago, but Martin couldn't take it anymore, waiting for the phone call to dash his dreams again, waiting for the day he'd be evicted from the attic room, waiting for the day things would be better, like people always promised.

This time, his father couldn't call him selfish

Martin was hit by nostalgia, as he stared at the small blade in his hand. He cut a single horizontal line across his wrist, and allowed the pain to drown his emotions. He let the blood drip onto his hand before he lowered his wrist into the cold water, watching the blood spread artistically through the water. Over twenty years and it felt like only yesterday he'd been doing this… One of the deeper cuts had scarred faintly, and he smiled as he traced it with the blade. He let the tentacles of crimson seep around him, twirling like ribbons into beautiful spirals before Martin cut a long, vertical line up his are and lowered himself further into the bath, watching as the water turned pink, then red, as he lost consciousness.

But he woke up again; two days and a blood transfusion later. One of the students, Milo, had forgotten something, and had gone to use the toilet before he left again, but had been borrified to find Martin bathing in his own diluted blood. He'd immediately called the landlord, and then an ambulance.

Martin cursed. Again, he'd failed. He resolved to try again when he got home.

The landlord, Peter, came to visit him.

"Martin, were you trying to…you know…?" he stammered. Martin sighed. "You know… That's a bit selfish."

That stung. Only Martin's father had ever said it was selfish before.

"What about all that effort you put in for that CPL of yours?" Peter asked.

"I'll just fail again." Martin muttered.

"Well what about your friends? Family? Won't they miss you?"

"No."

The conversation was over.

Martin was home within another two days and he sighed, seeing the voice message on the phone. He pressed 'play' and listened:

"This message is for Mr. Martin Crieff." Here we go… "We are delighted to inform you that you have passed your CPL, please come to the centre as soon as possible to collect your lisence." And the message ended. Martin stood stock still, letting the grin spread across his face. Maybe things weren't so bad after all…

\---

Martin's fourth and final attempt occurred after two and a half years of service with MJN air. It wasn't spur of the moment. He'd been planning it for a month now, the only thing stopping him being the thought that maybe, just maybe, things would actually get better. But they didn't. Things just got worse. He still didn't get paid by Carolyn… He'd had ten van job cancellations in the past two weeks alone, and he'd only had twelve to start with. His rent was due again, and he didn't have the money, and lately Douglas' jibes had taken an unpleasantly snide and cruel turn for the worse, which broke Martin's already fragmented heart more with each insult. He was bursting at the seams. This time, he was going to do it properly. He had to, he couldn't take any more.

They were in New York, having flown a businesswoman there that morning. Once they'd landed, Douglas had left to find a sushi restaurant, and Carolyn and Arthur had gone sightseeing. Martin was alone. He found himself at the top of a very tall skyscraper… This couldn't fail. There was nothing to break his fall. Nothing to stop him from flying…

"Martin?" came a familiar voice. Martin's eyes widened. He dared not turn around. "What are you doing?" asked the voice. _Remember it, Martin._ He told himself. _It's the last time you'll hear it…_

"What do you think I'm doing, Douglas?" Martin snapped. He still didn't turn.

"I hope you're not doing what I think you're doing. But given my track record, I doubt I'm wrong…" Douglas said quietly.

"And what do you think I'm doing, mister 'I'm always right'?" Martin bit.

"Jumping." Douglas said. He was shockingly calm.

Martin turned around and began to step backwards towards the edge, his eyes locked on Douglas'. Behind the calm exterior, Douglas was scared, truly scared…

"And if I am?" Martin asked blankly. Perhaps what scared Douglas most was that for the first time, Martin sounded completely and utterly confident.

"Martin, don't be so… selfish." Douglas muttered. Martin felt the tears well-up in his eyes at the stinging words.

"How is it selfish?! HUH!?" he spat, tears pouring down his cheeks, as he stepped back further.

"You can't leave me."

"Oh, I see! You can't be bothered to fly back? Well tough! I'm not doing it for you!" Martin yelled, his voice shaking.

"Martin, listen-"

"No, you listen! I'm _sick_ of it all…" Martin said. "I'm sick of not getting paid. I'm sick of worrying if I'll even have a place to sleep! I'm sich of the rich selfish bastards we have to fly around, complaining about the type of _wine_ we give them! I'm sick of being a failure, Douglas. And I'm sick of-" he cut himself off.

"What?" Douglas asked. If he could find out what was wrong, maybe, just maybe he could help…

"I'm sick of knowing I can never be with the man I love…" Martin sobbed. Douglas looked confused. _Oh why not, it'll be over soon anyway…_ "You, Douglas! You've been so snide lately, and it hurts. It hurts more than I've ever let on." Martin said, with another choked sob. "It breaks my heart. I can't take it any more!" he cried, stepping further back and closing his eyes.

"Martin, no!" Douglas yelled. Martin spread his arms out, opening his eyes and smiling at Douglas through the tears.

"Goodbye." He said, closing his eyes again a letting himself fall backwards, waiting for the rushing feeling of flying, but it never came. He opened his eyes in confusion as a strong hand clamped around his scarred wrist and pulled him away from the edge, and he was send crashing to the roof atop Douglas. He was winded.

"Looks like I… mis-judged that a little." Douglas coughed breathlessly. Martin tried to push himself up, but Douglas held tight to his wrist as he stood. Martin tried to pull away, but pulled him back by his wrist, so they were pressed up against each other, with barely an inch between their faces. Douglas shifted his eyes to Martin's wrist. He could see the scars… He traced them with his thumb gently. "Martin…?"

"My last attempt…" Martin whispered. Douglas looked at him. Martin's eyes were turned away. "I can't even kill myself properly, Douglas…" his voice was cracking, tears streaming from his eyes in an endless stream. Douglas lifted his left hand to wupe them away. "Don't… It's hurts…" Martin whispered. Douglas understood immediately.

"It shouldn't." he said firmly. Martin looked at him, frowning a little in confusion, before Douglas crashed their lips together in a desperate kiss, full of unspoken pain and passion. Martin's eyes went wide, before he relaxed into the kiss, as Douglas wound his arms around Martin's waist, lifting him up a little to deepen the kiss.

When they finally broke apart. Martin was wide eyed and flushed a deep crimson.

"You always mis-understand what I say, Martin." Douglas said. Martin cocked his head in confusion. "When I said 'you can't leave me'… I didn't mean the flight, you idiot."

"Then w-" but he was cut off by Douglas kissing him again passionately.

"Work it out, _sir_." Douglas said, with a smug smile. Martin blushed deeply.

"You mean… you-?" Martin stammered. Douglas nodded.

"I love you, you idiot. I-uh… I was trying to hide it behind the snide comments. I didn't think you'd like me. I guess… I was wrong on both counts." He explained. Martin couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face. "If you'd jumped… I would've… I couldn't have…"

"The great Douglas Richardson is speechless…?" Martin mocked, although his voice still sounded broken. Douglas scowled playfully.

"I just want you to know that you have people that care, Martin. You can't leave. We need you…" he paused. "I need you."

"Really, Douglas?" Martin whispered. Douglas kissed him again.

"Of course."

"Nobody's ever… needed me..." Martin muttered.

"Well, get used to it. I'm here for you, and I will help you, Martin." Douglas said. Martin smiled. "Now… shall we start with dinner? I believe there's a nice sushi joint over the road." He said, with a wink, holding out his arm for Martin to take. He did so, leaning his head against Douglas' shoulder as they headed for the stairs.


End file.
